


Stolen Property

by Ember1313



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Molly lives, don't actually know if he'll meet the nein, except its not really molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember1313/pseuds/Ember1313
Summary: In a hole near the road, a man wakes up. With nothing in his head he starts walking.
Kudos: 9





	Stolen Property

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as a collaboration with my wonderful friend. Liz if you're reading this I miss you :)

Cold. Dark. Trapped.  
Eyes Open.  
Can’t Breathe.

Clawing at dirt, each inch a fight. Can’t breathe. It’s dark. They can’t get free. Weight crushing them. Holding them. Suffocating them. Why?  
Finally light. Coughing, spitting. Blood and dirt. Breathing. How long has it been? Blood. My own? They look down, their shirt torn and bloody. Definitely my own. They look around. A coat blowing in the wind. Sun-bleached but still bright. They trace the embroidered lines, swirling across the entirety of the coat. Not mine. They glance down, something catching their eye at the base of the makeshift stake. A card, the moon. Worn but strangely intact; unlike everything else around them. A grave.  
They did not know where the words in their head came from. They think. Nothing seems familiar. Not what is around them. Not themself. Not much of anything. The card. Holding it they see a serpent, swirling around their arm, the head on their wrist circled around a bright red eye, somehow different from the inked skin around it. Scars coat their arms. Where are they from? What happened? Not mine.  
The words keep echoing in their head. The things around them mean nothing to them. They do not even recognize themself. The card.They don’t know why. But something in the back of their head says to take it. There is not much there right now. So they take it. They walk, not knowing where to, taking nothing but the card.

They walk for a while. Slow, stumbling. These legs have not walked in some time. They grow weak, tired, Hungry. They have no food. It is near dark. As they walk they find a cart, abandoned. Not much of note, tents, canvas, bedroll. Oddly some rotting scaled hide? They shove the hide off the cart. This will do, I suppose. They find a small bit of dried meat, a little tough but it is something. They burrow into the canvas, wrapping themselves in the bedroll, and fade off into a restless sleep.  
They dream. If you could call it that. Empty. Monsters and beasts. Distant voices, almost familiar. Blood. A scarred and sneering face. Darkness. Not mine.  
They awake to shouts. They burrow farther into the canvas, hiding, unsure of who might be outside the relative safety they had found.  
“Hey! Git over here! There’s a fuckng cart!” The voice was rough, grating like sandpaper on their ears.  
“Might be a trap, watch yerselves.” This voice is lower, but still rough. Footsteps approach the cart. Several pairs. Things are shuffled around in the cart. Light hits their eyes. It is bright. Too bright. Their eyes are still unused to the daylight. They can make out two shapes. Faces.  
“Fucking hell, there’s someone ere. Covered in blood”  
“Poor bastard prolly got robbed and left fer dead”  
“We jus gonna leave im there?”  
The faces are clearer now. Human men, scruffy beards, dirty, faces scarred. You back away, as far into the corner as you can, eyes wide in fear.  
“Ah what the hell, git over ere.” a rough hand is offered. You hesitate, not trusting these strangers, the first people you’ve met. Slowly you take the offered hand and are helped out of the cart, still clutching the bedroll.  
“We’ll get ya some food and clothes but then yer on yer own ya hear?” the man with the voice utters, eyes locked on yours. You stay frozen, unsure of how to respond.  
“Not much of a talker eh? Suit yerself.”  
The men stare, the blood soaked into your clothes seems like more than anyone can survive. Rugged clothes hanging off a too thin frame, tattoos curling across his skin. Blood. So much blood. You suppose you must be quite a sight. You think that you’d stare at someone like you too. The men talk amongst themselves, loud and joking with each other. You set yourself away from them, frantically consuming the food they had given you like you were starving. You don’t know how long you were in the ground, who knows when you last ate. You glance around, finally taking a moment to see the world around you. There is a bit of bite to the air, the lingering cold pricking at your bare skin. There are little bits of green dotting the landscape. The leaves still sparse. Early spring.  
As everyone finishes their meal one of the men begins rummaging in the back of their cart, shoving a few things into a bag. The man tosses it toward you. You flinch.  
“There's some clothes, water, a bit of food, a shitty old knife no one wants.”  
The men start packing away the few items they had removed from their cart. Clearly this unexpected stop was not meant to last long. They pay you no mind.  
“You’re on yer own from here. Way yer heading is either Hupperdook or Zadash. Good luck” They finished packing up and were quickly on their way.  
Zadash. Something sounded familiar. You don’t know what.  
And again you are alone.


End file.
